


In Your Dreams

by Karallaye



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Dreams, M/M, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Prequel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-14
Updated: 2012-12-13
Packaged: 2017-11-21 02:27:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/592422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karallaye/pseuds/Karallaye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We’ve met, haven’t we, Mister Eames?” Eames couldn’t push down the warmth of affection he felt upon hearing his name fall from those lips, but he schooled his face, trying not to show too much of his hurricane of thoughts. Even though Eames knew in the logical side of his mind that Arthur didn’t really recognize him, it still hurt to face the calculating look he was getting.</p><p>“It all depends on what your definition of a meeting is,”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Depending on Definitions

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote this about two years ago, but I've been putting it through a complete rewrite. Here's the new and improved version.
> 
> Let me know what you think.
> 
> Also: I have been to Hong Kong, but I do not live there, so this is all from memory. If it's all wrong, please don't slay me!

**_A sincere smile… Arms wrapped around his waist… a kiss behind the ear. He desperately wanted to stay this way. Those eyes looked straight through him, until he was left bare. Fingers intertwined… the smell of espresso boiling away. Somewhere a kettle was screeching for someone to come make the tea, but they’d get to that in a minute…_ **

Eames awoke with a strangled yelp. Somehow, he felt the name still trying to slip off of the tip of his tongue. Biting it back, he looked around, feeling his panic melt away as he remembered where he was. His heart was racing, and he was gasping for air as if he’d just run a marathon. He couldn’t breathe. Everything was too close, too heavy, and covered in sweat. He had to move. Sitting up and throwing off the thin sheet that covered him, he pulled his legs over the edge of the bed and tried to calm his breath. Cradling his head in his hands, Eames thought back to the dream.  _That smile..._

No. He wouldn't go there again. His dreams had been getting worse as of late. They weren’t really nightmares, just the worst type of dream imaginable; the same dream that he couldn't forget, because it wasn't really imagined at all. It was a memory of something real, something he just wanted-no, needed to be real again.

Eames stood from the bed and paced around the cramped bedroom for a moment. When he made his way to the small, dingy window, he stopped. Eames quickly tore off the sweaty clothes he was wearing, and pulled on some new jogging gear. As he pulled on his trainers, making sure his key was safely in the zipper pocket of his sweatpants he tried to force his mind to think of something else, anything, and anyone else. There wasn’t much to distract him in this tiny room, just the echo of a far off memory. Eames made his way out of the run-down motel he was staying in and began to jog through the immense city of Hong Kong.

Jogging was not Eames’ exercise of choice, but the constant thud of his feet on the pavement, and the ever changing terrain of this city were sometimes enough to take his mind off of everything. He needed to get  _that_   _face_ out of his mind. When the burning in his chest began to block everything out, he slowed his pace and meandered down to the waterfront. Eames was staying on the Kowloon side of the city, and the view from across the river, even at 4 am when the lights on the buildings were still on, but not in their usual, playful state, was still breathtaking. Unfortunately, the only thing Eames noticed about the city was its hulking weight pressing down on him at every angle; the way it poked and pressed its way into the deepest parts of his mind, pulling up memories he’d rather not disturb right now. ‘ _Arthur would have loved this… he might have already loved it, and I just don’t know_ ’ Eames tried not to think like that, as there were many things he had yet to find out about the other man, in this world, at least. He shook himself, and continued his jog until he found the nearest train station. With a tired grimace on his face, he took one final look at the city's beautiful skyline, and let out a low sigh. Hopefully this would be the last time he saw it in this light.

He made his way to the city center, marveling at how similar, and yet, unique this city was from nearly every other city he’d ever been to. The people on the trains at this hour were the usual sketchy, drunk types, with the occasional group of teens, just trying to find their way back home. He received a few odd looks, but people mainly ignored the Englishman as he made his way out of the underground train, and into the hive that was the Hong Kong side. The fishermen along the shores were a constantly moving wave, casting on and off of the shores and docks like ants scurrying to complete their tasks. Some stores were opening for the day, while others were closing for the night. It was still astounding to Eames how many American franchises had taken root in this city. The culture shock when he first got to Hong Kong was both devastating and barely noticeable. The flash of signs and lights turning on and off for their respective establishments was like some kind of language all its own, and it was all Eames could do to just pass through. Hong Kong was so alive, bustling with unceasing activity. Eames took in the dawn, and lost himself in the crowd.  

* * *

 

At first, Eames had let himself believe that what they’d told him was true, that Arthur wasn’t real, that the entire thing had just been a figment of his own subconscious need to connect to another person, despite all of his attachment and commitment issues. There had been pages and pages of psych evals and very convincing letters recommending that Eames be suspended from duty for displaying a very blatant mental weakness. But something had niggled its way into the back of Eames mind. It was an idea, yes, but one he’d formed on his own. He hoped.

_Arthur is real. Arthur is alive. Arthur wasn’t a lie._

Eames was almost certain that he had finally traced down Arthur. It had taken almost three years of calling in favors, and hopping from continent to continent, following up on rumors of a Point Man who needed no CV or résumé to proceed him, and got through jobs with deadly precision. The search had placed a heavy strain on the few relationships Eames had. Dom ended up being one of the few to not give up on him in total exasperation. But here he was, in Hong Kong, of all places, about to come face to face with the man of his dreams… Now wasn’t that a joke if he’d ever heard one. 

* * *

There was something to be said for having the ability to dine among the elite of Hong Kong. It was always an eclectic mix of native Chinese born people who had worked their way up through means that were sometimes legal and honest, and sometimes not. There were always foreigners who had found their way here on word of mouth, and businessmen, who no one really knew what they wanted, or what they were even doing in a restaurant on the top of a skyscraper, because everyone knew they would never really appreciate the view.

Eames was technically a retired military officer in the Royal Armed Forces. He had served as liaison to the UN peacekeeping forces, as well as participated in many classified operations for the PASIV unit. If he took the time to wear his military service openly, he would probably feel a lot more comfortable in these high-class circles. But Eames wasn’t one for being fancy for fancy’s sake. He just knew that Arthur was.

As Eames sat at the small table, awaiting his dinner guest, he tried not to panic. This meeting had been carefully planned, on a scale that rivaled even the best cold war communiqué. The card with the address and date that had found its way into Arthur’s pocket was in no way traceable back to Eames, and really, Eames had no idea if Arthur would even show up. But for some reason, he dared to hope that maybe all of his work and planning might actually pay off. Letting his eyes wander, Eames found himself staring out the window, out into the city. It was a completely different place from this high up. The masses of people moved along at a pace, which was startlingly fast, and incredibly slow, all at the same time, and traffic of taxis and double decker busses seemed like a sad joke against the sheer force of millions of people crossing paths at a constant rate. Eames had lost himself in watching the ebb and flow, and therefore hadn’t noticed that suddenly the seat across from him was occupied, until he heard someone clearing their throat.

Startled, he turned, and was shocked into silence. This was Arthur.

“I hope I haven't kept you waiting long, Arthur, dear." Eames saw something akin to shock flash across Arthur’s face, before it quickly resettled itself into a collected expression. A tight smile worked it’s way across the man’s face, and Eames felt hurt at this closed off man, before he remembered where he was. Eames noticed that Arthur had a drink in his hand, a small tumbler of whisky. He watched as Arthur tilted the glass in his hand for a moment, before speaking.

  
“We’ve met, haven’t we, Mister Eames?” Eames couldn’t push down the warmth of affection he felt upon hearing his name fall from those lips, but he schooled his face, trying not to show too much of his hurricane of thoughts. Even though Eames knew in the logical side of his mind that Arthur didn’t really recognize him, it still hurt to face the calculating look he was getting.

 

“It all depends on what your definition of a meeting is,” Eames kept talking quickly, hoping to distract Arthur, “But that’s a tale for another time. Right now, I’m here to ask for your assistance on a tricky matter that has come to my attention, regarding a former client of yours, and a current client of mine.” Eames watched Arthur’s face as he digested this information. It was interesting to watch this version of Arthur separate the two conflicting statements, and file the former away for later examination. Eames had trouble not staring. Arthur was so much more expressive here. Of course, he should have known that from the beginning. This was _real life_. The cool, calculated façade that Arthur presented was still present, but there were minor slips and twitches here and there, that allowed Eames to see that _this man_ was tangible.

 

“Okay.” Arthur began slowly, “What’s the problem?” He leaned back in his seat, and took another sip of his whiskey. Eames chuckled, and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table before him. _Now the fun begins._


	2. Remember When You Fall Asleep

**_They lay in bed, limbs tangled together. The mid-morning sun was streaming through the window. Eames inched closer, until his lips were just brushing Arthur's. As Arthur's eyes fluttered open, Eames felt inexplicably happy, for once in his life._ **

**_Suddenly he was alone, in a dark room, laying on a plain hospital bed, with that damn IV in his arm. There was one door, a tinted window, and the IV seemed to come from the wall. There were no machines in sight, but he knew what type of dream that was._ ** **Was that _all_  a dream?**

**“Sir… Sir?”**

  

“Sir?” Eames let out soft grunt and tried to wrap himself tighter in his blanket. “Excuse me, _Sir.”_

Eames looked up through bleary eyes, only to find himself face to face with the stewardess in charge of the business class cabin. Blinking, he looked around, and saw the other passengers giving each other wide-eyed, owlish looks. “Yes?”

 

“Sorry Sir, but we’re about to make our descent into Newark, so I’m going to need you to put your seat-back in its upright position.” He gave the woman a slow nod, and as she began walking away, Eames started to pull himself together. For some reason, whenever he was in Hong Kong, Eames forgot that the rest of the world's cities didn't exist in a tropical climate. Maybe this was his subconscious' way of shutting out the rest of the world, but for some reason, he never remembered to pack warm enough clothes to go anywhere farther north or south (depending on the time of year). So when he rushed to the airport wearing nothing but a suit & tie, he didn't give a second thought to the fact that it was February, and he was about to get on a flight to New York.

Unfortunately, he was brutally reminded of this fact, as soon as the plane cleared the gate. Looking around, he saw people pulling on coats, and scarves. _Damn_. Turing on his cell phone, he scrolled to Arthur's number and hit send. After a moment, his call was forwarded to voicemail. There was no personal outgoing message, or even a name, just a computerized sequence of numbers. The only reason Eames even knew he had the right number was because he had spent most of his time waiting at the airport in Hong Kong, just staring at the number, wondering if he should call.

As soon as the beep sounded, he left a brief message, "Hello Darling, I guess you've stepped out for the moment. I just wanted to let you know that the flight got in, but I'm in dire need of a coat, so I'm off to Bloomindales for a moment. Shouldn't be long really. I'll give you a call when I'm done, so I can find out where we'll be meeting this time. Ta"

Eames flipped the phone shut, and stared at it in a mild state of shock. He'd sounded so horrifyingly domesticated. As if this was  _his_  Arthur.  _We're not quite there yet..._  After a moment's thought, he considered calling back and leaving a different message, but what would be the point in that. So he simply brushed it off, gathered his few carry-on belongings, and made his way into the metropolis of New York City.


End file.
